


Sense Will Come By Itself

by LoxleyAndBagell



Series: The Ballad of Hoss [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bitty is fed-up, also wee Jack wanted to be Pippi Longstocking when he grew up, but nothing really happens at all here, discussion of therapy dogs, except they think the other laughs stupidly, honestly Bitty is a lot scarier than he thinks I will bet you anything, honestly this is pre-zimbits, the conspiracy is born
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 21:51:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5760175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoxleyAndBagell/pseuds/LoxleyAndBagell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“All right,” he said. “Who do we need to call so we can get ourselves in trouble?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sense Will Come By Itself

**Author's Note:**

> All characters (except Hoss the dog) were created by Ngozi Ukazu, creator of "Check, Please!" It's a remarkable comic, and she deserves all good things in the world for letting us read it.

Bitty had just gotten his homework for the weekend, and already his head was swimming. He had known about the test coming up next Wednesday, had shrugged off panic in his plans to intersperse reviewing with tinkering about with that chocolate truffle cake recipe, but he hadn’t counted on an additional chapter’s worth of material to be added to his study list.

 

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so awful if the chapter wasn’t a condensed account of _all of French history_ in the years leading up to the American Revolution, and Bitty’s mind was running up dry on heavily-researched yet entertaining musicals and films set during that particular era.

 

It was only two o’clock as he trudged his way back, and the light was already growing dim. The wind screamed in the exposed parts of his face, forcing him to shut his eyes and periodically stop in his tracks, genuinely fearing he might have been blown away.

 

He returned to a full Haus, with nearly everybody assembled around the TV except for Jack.

 

“There he is!” Nursey laughed as he entered. “You didn’t get blown away?”

 

Bitty only grumbled as he set about taking off his boots. Now that feeling was slowly returning to his toes, it was easy to tell just how much snow had gotten blown in his boots and soaked his socks.

 

“Lardo’s been researching ways we could have Hoss here,” Chowder said brightly.

 

Oh, and wasn’t _that_ just the nicest thing to come back to.

 

“Really?” Bitty drawled, tugging his socks off. Barefoot, he took himself to the kitchen.

 

“Yeah,” Chowder called. “We’ll make a run to the store to get her stuff, but we’re working out whose room she’ll stay in, and obviously we’ll have to wait for Jack before—“

 

Bitty started wringing his socks into the sink, and the amount pastel run-off trickling over his fingers made his blood run just a little too hot for his own good.

 

“Have you also figured out who’ll watch her when there’s nobody in the Haus?” he asked, sharply. “Or what we’ll have to do when someone’s allergies are triggered by her saliva or dandruff? Or what’s gonna happen with her if we have a party, or _she’s_ triggered, somehow? Or what’ll happen when _y’all get tired of her and she’s been here and attached to us after a month?”_

There was a squeaky, protesting noise from his sock seams as he twisted a little too harshly. Worn down, but still simmering with frustration, he slumped over the sink and exhaled slowly.

 

There was silence from the other room.

 

The back of Bitty’s neck prickled, and he thought about anger-baking, but that meant staying on the same floor as the people in the other room. So, he carefully took up his backpack and coat and strode out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his room without making eye contact with anyone.

 

He was too tired to bake, he reasoned. Very- probably too tired. And he needed to study.

 

 

 

Bitty couldn’t concentrate on his notes.

 

It was only four, and his window showed only slushy snow and darkness. Working on the floor only hurt his back, and working from his bed spelled disaster, and really, his desk was where he got the most done, but that was also where his laptop was, and the laptop screen was a fathomless abyss, but that abyss was a hell of a lot more entertaining and less depressing than the gloom outside.

 

Hell. Maybe he needed a break.

 

But! But he had resolved this year that he would bake only after he had met both his academic _and_ team obligations for the day. If he could just power through until six, _then_ he would likely be finished up, could go and have dinner, and have the rest of the night to dink around in the kitchen and Twitter and whatever he wanted.

 

But it really well-and-truly _sucked_ in this room right now.

 

He could take a few walking laps! Stretch out for fifteen minutes! All that, without leaving his homework behind!

 

True as that was, Bitty was really in a rut here. A different room might help, these notes could go just about anywhere and serve their function.

 

He was just getting grumpy and antsy. Just take a little break here, go back to the desk with the chair that’s starting to make his backside hurt, with only the inky void to look at while all the lights are on in this room so his reflection stared back at him in the window, glassy-eyed and weary and vaguely twitchy…

 

…Too late, thanks for the speech, brain, but Bitty was already out the door with notes and textbook under his arm.

 

He was always inspired in the kitchen. All his best work happened there. He would _not_ get distracted, he would just sit at the counter and do his work there, and it would be a change of scenery, and it would be fine and good and productive and—

 

Jack was talking to Shitty in the kitchen.

 

Bitty stopped stock-still at the top of the stairs. From there, he could make out the voices, but the words were soft and muffled, as if being heard from under layers upon layers of quilts.

 

Whatever it was that Jack was saying, it was of paramount importance to Shitty, judging by the weight given the silence Jack was punctuating with his mumbling. Periodically, Shitty would reply, and the words were no louder than Jack’s, but rolled in soothing cadences.

 

Bitty recognized the tone from when he had come out to Shitty, but back then Shitty had not been nearly so loquacious. But then, Bitty was loquacious enough for at least four people.

 

Bitty lost track of how long he stood there, listening to something besides his own breathing or his music or the wind outside. At some point, Jack dissolved into giggles, and it sounded like a hungry gosling. Bitty had to bite his tongue.

 

Very soon, Bitty realized that he had two options here—either reveal himself, or sneak back up to that stifling, stagnant room. Bitty’s gut began to twist as he realized he very likely heard far, far too much already.

 

As he crept back up the stairs, he very nearly fell down again after hearing Jack’s goose-laugh again.

 

 

 

Around six, Jack knocked at Bitty’s door. There was a muffled grumbling sort of noise before the clatter and a sharp yelp.

 

“Did you fall?” Jack asked through the door.

 

“Don’t laugh at me,” was the muffled response.

 

“Should I come in and save you, or…?”

 

“No, no, I can— _sweet baby Mary—“_

If Bitty didn’t sound so frustrated, Jack would have been more worried. As it was, he found himself smirking and asked, “something got you there?”

 

A shamed pause before Bittle responded, “if you laugh, I will find ways to make life very difficult for you.”

 

“Don’t you do that already?” Jack mumbled.

 

“What was that?”

 

“I’m opening the door, don’t be naked.”

 

Bitty was not naked. In fact, he was lying on the floor. With his desk chair on top of him. With both of his legs trapped in the space between the seat and the back. Whatever kind of upside-down threatening glare he was trying to shoot at Jack was diminished by the keen resemblance he bore to a sad beagle.

 

In addition to being, well, upside-down.

 

“If you leave me here,” Bitty said, over Jack’s laughter, “this Haus will never have pies again. I will buy a Nutribullet instead, and all will know it was your doing.”

 

“What did you even _do?”_

Bitty sniffed. “I choose not to dignify that with an answer. But I’ll have you know that I _was_ studying.”

 

Still giggling, Jack moved to heave the chair off of Bittle. “You were trying to Pippi-Longstocking it, weren’t you.”

 

At Bitty’s confused look, Jack explained, “She’d do this thing where she slept upside-down. When I was little, I tried to do it, because I thought it’d increase brain-activity or something.”

 

Surprisingly, Bitty didn’t laugh. He smiled, but it was the sort of smile he got when Ransom got a picture of his baby niece. Or Dex vowed to one day get him a “real damn crab-roll, none of this weak nonsense.” Or Chowder said or did… anything, really.

 

“Really?” he asked. “You did that?”

 

“Oh yes.”

 

“Did it do anything?”

 

“It made me fall on my head a lot. Okay, now you can free your legs.”

 

Bitty quickly sprung up to his feet and took his chair from Jack, setting it upright again. “Well, I can assure you I was _not_ following that school of thought.”

 

“Wanna explain what it was you _were_ trying to do?”

 

“Why bother? You’ll find some way to chirp me regardless of what I say. Besides, it detracts from the real question here; namely,” he pointed a finger at Jack, “what brings you here? Can’t be practice, you’re not a fan of evening practice.”

 

Jack hummed. “You’re not _wrong.”_

Bitty nodded at him, an unspoken _please, proceed._

Jack’s hands went to his pockets. “You can’t tweet about this.”

 

_“Jack.”_

“All right, all right,” he held his hands up in submission. “It’s. Wow. Okay, first: Shitty told me you had some points to make this afternoon, and—“

 

“Oh no,” Bitty cringed, mortified.

 

He looked like he wanted to shrink in on himself and disappear. Like he thought Jack was upset, and was going to do more than chirp him.

 

Jack supposed there were things to say in a situation like this, things like _you’re allowed to be pissed_ (except Bitty never got pissed, at least not where Jack could see), or _I don’t get why you were pissed but it’s not a huge deal_ (except it kind of was, because this was a Haus Thing and, again, _Bitty never got pissed)_.

 

Instead, he said, “Shitty said you were mad as hell, and I’m sorry I missed it.”

 

Because Jack is, at heart, a straightforward guy, who has been wondering for hours now if Bitty’s voice gets squeaky when he’s mad, or if he bursts into flames, or what, because he had no idea until today if Bitty even got legitimately angry. Irked, yes; cartoonishly frustrated, absolutely. But rage-filled?

 

That. That’s a thought.

 

Bitty, if not comforted, at least looked too surprised to be mortified anymore. Taking advantage of his currently stupefied state, Jack soldiered on, rushing through the words: “So, I might be seriously considering a therapy dog.

 

“And it’s not just an excuse to have Hoss here, though it _is_ an ethical reason to have a dog here legitimately; it’s something I hadn’t considered before, and I don’t know what I think about it, but I’m looking more into it, so that might be a… thing that happens.”

 

Bitty was still not saying anything, just staring wide-eyed.

 

“So,” Jack added, “she’d really be _my_ problem, and she’d come with me when I leave.”

 

Bitty looked ready to try and say something, and when nothing came out, he nearly looked offended.

 

When he finally did speak, it was Jack’s turn to look offended: “Did Shitty help you write up that defense?”

 

“It was the best option for an honest reason to have her here!” Jack sputtered. “And all he did was help organize and format the arguments, and—stop laughing.”

 

“He helped _format_ your—“ Bitty couldn’t finish that train of thought. “You had to write a defense case against me, oh lord.”

 

“You were _angry!”_

“I’m _half a foot a shorter than you!”_

See, here was the problem—a guy that could laugh like that (a little too loud; kind of shrill the way a rooster is; like the only reason it’s dark outside is because the sun decided to take residence in his body and devote its energy to making that sort of noise) was not the sort of guy to get seriously angry.

 

But he had, and it had been Jack’s fault, mostly, but if Jack could still make him laugh like that, maybe his chances of forgiveness were pretty good.

 

When Bitty had settled down enough to manage proper words, he said, “this is a plan I think I need to hear more about, and I can’t manage an appropriately serious discussion on an empty stomach. You eaten?”

 

“No, not yet.”

 

“All right.” Bitty picked up his computer and charger cord. “We’re taking this to the kitchen. I haven’t been there properly all day, and it’s eating at me.”

 

“Pun intended?” Jack asked, following Bitty downstairs.

 

“Don’t weaken your defense by feeding my potential ire,” Bitty warned without any heat.

 

 

About an hour later, Bitty hauled Shitty over to help clean up and put away dishes while Lardo and Jack used Bitty’s computer.

 

“Hey Jack,” Shitty called over his shoulder, “while you’re on there, see if you can’t find a dishwasher for sale, I think Betsy-two needs a buddy.”

 

When there was no response from either Jack or Lardo except a continued tense silence, Bitty patted Shitty’s back with a soapy glove. “We don’t need a dishwasher, what do you think I keep you boys around for?”

 

They finished in silence, and only when the last pan was put away did Bitty roll his sleeves down and ask, “Well, what’s the verdict? Or is it too soon to tell?”

 

“Not good,” Lardo huffed. “We’re not finding any places near us that have programs that complete the certification program within our time-frame.”

 

 _Departure Date,_ Bitty thought bitterly.

 

“What are our other options?” Bitty asked.

 

“Nothing that the campus would approve of,” said Shitty, pulling the stopper out from the sink.

 

“It’s fine,” Jack shrugged, face blank and voice neutral. “I’ll tell the guys we can’t swing it. It was my idea, I’ll do the—“

 

“If you take any more weight on you, you’ll get your bad back before you’re thirty,” Bitty interrupted. “When are the others back? Do we know that everyone’s not allergic to anything dog-related? We might need to do some kind of testing—“

 

“Whoa, whoa.” Shitty was casting Bitty a pretty narrow side-eye. “What gives here, man?”

 

Bitty very pointedly did not look at Jack’s astounded expression as he said, “From what I’ve been told, you’ll make a very good lawyer, Mr. Knight.”

 

“I went over all that with the guys earlier today,” Lardo said over Shitty’s revolted shriek. “Everybody came up clear for pet-related allergens on their last physical. They even went so far as to make up a walking schedule, I hardly had to tell them anything.”

 

Bitty exhaled slowly through his nose. At this point in his life, he was no stranger to defeat, and he was sure that such would always be the case with him.

 

But the room was waiting for him to speak with bated breath, and the silence was now like the carbonation under a champagne cork, and this hardly felt like losing.

 

“All right,” he said. “Who do we need to call so we can get ourselves in trouble?”

 

 

When the rest of the team returned from dinner, they were greeted with the smell of cigar smoke from the Haus’ open windows.

 

Shitty poked his head out the door, cigar box in his hand and shirt long-gone, greeting them with, “gentlemen, come inside and have a cigar; there’s to be a birth in the family.”

**Author's Note:**

> “Give the children love, more love and still more love – and the common sense will come by itself.”  
> ― Astrid Lindgren


End file.
